The Holiday Home

‘There’s coffee in the pot. Would you like me to make some toast?’ he asked.

‘You’re a darling, Francis. Yes please.’ She slumped into a chair. ‘How’s my hypochondriacal sister’s back this morning?’

The two of them shared a smile at their mutual understanding of Pru’s ruse. Connie knew that Francis had his wife’s number, but he was far too loyal (and too smart) to ever criticise his wife. Pru was lucky to have him, but Connie doubted that her sister appreciated the things Francis did for her, the sacrifices he’d made.

‘A lot better, I think. I’ve run her a hot bath to loosen it.’

‘Yes. I noticed there was no hot water.’ Connie sighed and stretched her arms above her, watching her brother-in-law as he popped two slices of bread in the toaster. ‘Francis?’

‘Ye-es?’ He was chewing the end of his biro now and looking at his very long shopping list.

‘You must be glad of this summer break. How have things been?’

‘Oh, you know. Busy running around ferrying Jem to and from his various social activities – I was pretty strict about making sure that he found time to study – but lately it’s been all work and no play, what with his GCSEs.’

Connie nodded. ‘I know what you mean. I seem to spend all my time chauffeuring Abi. I worry about her. She’s so beautiful, I can’t help being afraid that she’ll be lured away from the straight and narrow.’ She brushed at a couple of Jeremy’s cornflake crumbs left on the table. ‘She’ll be seventeen soon. My little girl is almost grown up.’

‘You can’t hold them back, Con. Do you remember how you were at that age?’

‘Christ – I don’t want to remember!’ She laughed and swept the cornflakes into her hand before getting up and putting them in the bin. ‘How are things with the PTA? Last time we talked, you were really getting stuck into all that stuff.’

Francis gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, pretty much what you’d expect: so far so boring!’ He hurried to change the subject: ‘But Pru’s the one with the stress, not me.’

‘You work hard too, though, looking after the house and Jeremy.’

The toaster popped and Francis grabbed a plate, a knife and the butter dish, then put it all down in front of Connie.

She thanked him. ‘Greg’s always putting in long hours at work, so I’m in the same boat as you. Being the one who stays home, keeping things running smoothly – that’s important work too. I like to think I’m providing a sanctuary for him to escape to, leave the stress behind.’

Connie ploughed on: ‘He and Pru are lucky to have us. It’s the little things, isn’t it? Making sure the fridge is stocked with their favourite food. A well-ordered house with clean towels and a comfy bed.’

Francis was still distracted. ‘Well, yes …’

Connie went for the big one: ‘A nice cuddle in the marital bed at the end of a long day.’ She stopped to observe his reaction to the last comment. Apart from a slight pause in writing his list, Francis made no response.

‘Greg and I have been married for twenty years, and the physical side of our relationship is terribly important. Good sex keeps a couple together, don’t you think?’

Francis stopped writing and blinked at her, not sure he’d heard her correctly. ‘Sorry, Connie. What did you say?’

‘How long have you been married to Pru now?’

He put his pen down and tore the list from the pad.

‘Eighteen years this November.’ Connie and he were close and enjoyed each other’s company, but he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the turn this conversation was taking. ‘Anything you need from the village? I must get this shopping done.’ He was standing now and looking around for his mobile phone and car keys.

Connie knew when to pull back. She’d have to continue this conversation slowly over the coming weeks.

‘No, I don’t think so. I’ll probably have a little expedition down there myself this afternoon to pick up supplies – Greg loves the chilli jam they do at the deli. But thanks anyway.’

‘OK, see you later.’ He found the keys and his phone on the side. As he picked them up, his phone buzzed with another text. He glanced at the name of the sender. Belinda again. He put the phone in his pocket without opening the message.

Curious, Connie decided to tease him further: ‘Aren’t you going to see who that is? Or is it your secret lover?’

Francis was fumbling with his linen jacket. ‘School PTA round robin, I expect. Bound to be something that can wait. I don’t want to miss the fresh granary loaves at the baker’s. Tell Pru I’ll be back in an hour or so.’

*

He could feel the phone burning in his pocket. His heart was thumping in his chest and his breathing got faster. He hopped in the car and set off down the drive and out on to the sandy beach lane, relieved to have escaped before Connie asked any more awkward questions. Why did he feel so furtive and guilty? It wasn’t as if there was anything between them … Or was there? No, he’d done nothing to encourage her.

A small child in jelly shoes, bucket and spade in hand, suddenly stepped out in front of him. Francis executed a perfect emergency stop and smiled at the child’s harassed mother, who shouted an obscenity at him and yanked her daughter back on to the verge.

He had to put all thoughts of Belinda aside and concentrate. Belinda … Attractive, full-hipped and full of life. He had met her when her fourteen-year-old daughter, Emily, had joined Jeremy’s school last September. Belinda was a merry and willing new recruit to the PTA. A divorcée in her early forties, she’d made a beeline for him from the start. It wasn’t Francis’s style to strike up relationships with people; he was happiest with his family around him and the few friends Pru liked to socialise with, but there was something about Belinda that was hard to resist. She was constantly inviting him over to her place for lunch. He hadn’t taken up the invitation … yet.

He carefully reversed into a tight space in the Higher Barton village car park and turned the engine off. Unable to resist any longer, he reached for his phone and looked at the screen. Belinda’s name was top of the list of incoming messages:

Hi Frankie. Amazing coincidence – am coming to Cornwall Wednesday. Staying in Treviscum Bay. Anywhere near you? Emily and I would love to see you. xxxxx

‘Oh, shit shit shit!’ Francis said out loud. It was Sunday today. She’d be here in three days. What was he going to do? How did she know where he was? Had he told her he was coming to Treviscum Bay? Was she stalking him? How would he explain this to Pru? ‘Shit shit shit,’ he said again.

*

Normally, Francis liked nothing better than a trip to the shops in Higher Barton. He enjoyed renewing old acquaintances with the shopkeepers and chatting to the baker about his latest lines. Today, however, he had found it impossible to concentrate on the lengthy explanation the baker had given him about his new range of gluten-free products.

‘Would you like to try a loaf? It’s hard to tell the difference.’

Francis had ended up buying four more loaves than he’d intended. He’d wondered, with more anxiety than was necessary, whether there was any room in the freezer, admonishing himself for not checking before he’d come out. He’d fretted all the way home, trying to focus on the loaves instead of contemplating what would happen when Belinda arrived.

‘Francis, there you are.’ Pru was lying on a comfortable lounger outside the sliding kitchen doors, on the sunny terrace.

‘Hello, Pru,’ Francis called over-brightly, setting down the six or seven plastic carrier bags that were cutting into his fingers. ‘Let me empty the car and I’ll make us a cup of coffee.’

‘Did you get my paper?’

‘Yes, dear!’ He gave her a beaming smile, hoping that it would cover any remnants of guilty thoughts about Belinda.

Pru gazed at him steadily. Frowning slightly. Oh God, did she suspect? He looked back at her, unable to move.

She spoke. ‘Well, go on then. I’m waiting.’

‘What for?’ He felt a squirt of fear in his stomach.

‘Get. My. Paper.’

Weak with relief, he rummaged in the carrier bags: ‘Yes. Yes. Of course, darling.’

*

‘What’s for lunch, Dad?’ Jeremy and Abi walked in through the sliding doors bringing sandy feet with them. Francis visibly jumped again.